


A yet more glorious day

by Sororising



Series: SamSteve week 2016 [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Background Helen Cho/Betty Ross, Coming Out, Domestic, Fluffy with bits of angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Natasha went on urban dictionary oh dear, Sam and Steve being adorable, SamSteve Week 2016, Vaguely set two years after CA:CW, background nat/sharon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 19:37:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7770373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sororising/pseuds/Sororising
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Helen hums to herself. “I know. Who’s the most married out of all the Avengers?” </p><p>“Sam and Steve, obviously,” Sharon says, winking at Steve in a very unsubtle way. </p><p>“As someone who has observed them from the very beginning,” Nat says with authority, and Steve winces as he remembers getting into her car right after meeting Sam. He’d been unable to stop himself from telling Nat about him, which he should have known was a horrible idea that would come back to haunt him. </p><p>“I concur,” Nat continues, flourishing her drink in a violent way that somehow manages to avoid spilling a drop. “Old Cap and New Cap are definitely the most married.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A yet more glorious day

**Author's Note:**

> Aww the last prompt for SamSteve week! Though I still have a couple fics to upload. This prompt was: Domestic. There isn't much Sam/Steve for the first bit, but then the second half is all them. Enjoy! I'm so glad I found out about this week (even if that wasn't until day 2 because I wasn't paying attention to tumblr), I have really enjoyed it!
> 
> The thing Steve says about Nat's car is inspired by [this](http://romanofforcrist.tumblr.com/post/148905989774/in-catws-when-sam-shows-natasha-and-steve-his-file) Tumblr post.
> 
> Warnings in end notes.
> 
> Title is from the hymn 'For All the Saints;' all my titles in this series come from it.

* * *

It’s taken them close to two years to get to this point, and it’s been a long and painful road for them all to walk.

But looking round at the almost-full room, which Tony insists on calling the Kiss-and-Make-Up Party Chamber for reasons known only to him, Steve thinks that it was almost worth it, for them to reach this moment.

It wasn’t really, of course. Nothing could ever make up for the innocent lives lost in the crossfire, or the injuries sustained - Steve spots Colonel Rhodes holding court at the bar, probably charming everyone within earshot with either some heroic tale or - more likely - an embarrassing anecdote about Tony’s college days. He’s wearing his sleek black bionic legsuit, which matches his crisp suit jacket perfectly.

Steve doesn’t recognise some of the people here, but they’re in the minority. Mostly it’s either Avengers, current and old, and various people affiliated with them, including the ex-SHIELD members who had been devastated by the reveal that their organisation was HYDRA and had been determined to build something better from its ashes.

Steve is happy sitting at a table with a few others who either don’t much feel like mingling, or who are determined to turn the night into some sort of drinking game that Steve probably wouldn’t want to participate in even if he could.

“I am _not_ playing Never Have I Ever,” Maria says in the exact voice she uses to inform dictators that she’s about to crush them underfoot.

Steve imagines, anyway.

“Aw,” Sharon says. “I was looking forward to finding out how many orgies there were in the higher ranks of SHIELD."

Everyone looks slightly ill at that thought, and Sharon apologises silently by pushing a few of the less-empty wine bottles around the table.

“I don’t think I know you all well enough for this,” Helen Cho points out. “And Maria has files on everyone, that would give her an unfair advantage.” 

“Excellent point,” Sharon agrees, ever the diplomat. “We should play something that will give Helen some intel - or gossip, I guess - on everyone.”

Steve catches Sharon’s eye and they share a brief smile. He doesn’t have any regrets about the few dates they’d tried going on, except maybe that they’d bothered with them in the first place. He counts Sharon as one of his closest friends now, and he’s beyond glad to have her in his life. 

“Or I could just ask questions?” Helen suggests in a mild voice.

“Much less fun,” Nat says, and Steve twitches very slightly; he hadn’t even seen her sit down. 

“No, that could work,” Maria says. “Helen asks us questions about the people here, and we have to decide who best fits the answer.”

“Fine,” Nat says. “But don’t bother asking anything about who’s the weirdest of us, we’d be here all day.”

Helen looks like she’s seriously thinking about her first question.

“Who’s secretly a sweetheart?” is what she goes with.

“Steve’s a sweetheart,” Sharon says. “But that’s not really a secret.”

“Tony,” Steve finds himself saying, even though he really hadn’t been planning on taking part in whatever this is. “He hates being thanked for anything, but he’s probably the most generous person I know.”

“I’m not a fan of Tony Stark,” Nat says. “But I admit that Rogers has a point.”

Maria downs her drink and reaches for a bottle to pour herself a new one. “Alright, Helen,” she says. “Next question?”

Helen hums to herself. “I know. Who’s the most married out of all the Avengers?” 

“Honorary and ex-Avengers included?” Nat asks, with a knowing look on her face.

“Sam and Steve, obviously,” Sharon says, winking at Steve in a very unsubtle way. 

What the hell?

“Oh, yeah, Wilson and Rogers are sickeningly married. I hate them both.”

Thanks, Maria. He wants to sink into the ground; he feels the way he used to when he was small, when people would tease him as though he was just a very stupid child who couldn’t understand their insults, rather than a person like them.

He knows these are his friends, and that they don’t mean it that way at all, but he can’t help how he feels.

“As someone who has observed them from the very beginning,” Nat says with authority, and Steve winces as he remembers getting into her car right after meeting Sam. He’d been unable to stop himself from telling Nat about him, which he should have known was a horrible idea that would come back to haunt him.

“I concur,” Nat continues, flourishing her drink in a violent way that somehow manages to avoid spilling a drop. “Old Cap and New Cap are definitely the most married.” 

Jesus, Mary and Joseph. He desperately wants to make them stop talking, but he’s worried that anything that he says right now will be horribly defensive and that everyone will be able to tell exactly what he’s thinking, so he stays silent.

“James,” Nat says, and Steve spins round, head still reeling, to see Bucky making his way towards their table.

Bucky hadn’t wanted to come to the party initially, which Steve had completely understood. Sam and Steve had driven down from DC without him, which means he’d probably borrowed Steve’s motorbike to get here.

“Hey, Barnes,” Sharon says. “Who acts the most married out of everyone at this party?”

Bucky looks confused for half a second, then like he’s actually thinking about the question.

“Stevie and Birdman, I guess,” he says, and _what the hell, Bucky,_ is everyone ganging up on Steve behind his back or something? “They’re disgustingly adorable.”

“Hah,” Nat says, sounding horribly pleased with herself. “That’s what Maria said.”

“Try actually living with them,” Bucky says. “I highly do not recommend it, unless you want to feel like a sad and lonely third wheel."

He winks at Steve, probably to reassure him that it was just a joke. Steve smiles back, hoping that it looks real enough.

Bucky frowns at him, just the tiniest bit. He’s always been able to tell when Steve’s not doing so good. Thankfully, though, he isn’t a mindreader, so it’s not like he’ll know what exactly is making Steve’s smile look more like a grimace.

“This isn’t funny, guys,” he says in what he wants to be a joking tone. His voice ends up coming out small and tight, and he resolutely stares down at his glass of Coke in the hope that it might transform itself into something that he can use to get blackout drunk.

They should have invited Thor. He could have brought his terrifying Asgardian ale, which had actually given Steve a hangover for the first time in his life.

Plus, Thor and Jane are engaged now, so maybe they would have won the ridiculous game that Steve hadn’t even been playing.

“Oh, my goodness,” Helen says out of nowhere, sounding awed. Steve guesses Tony’s just walked out in a metal bikini or something, and then promptly hates his brain for giving him that image. “That’s - that’s Betty Ross,” Helen continues, and, oh, guess he was wrong. Thankfully. “I have to introduce myself. I just - wow. Her work on the Crisper technology is unparalleled, you know?”

“I did not know that,” comes the polite reply from Bucky of all people, who is almost definitely just as clueless as Steve as to what exactly Crisper is.

Steve reluctantly looks up from his drink to check that Nat’s doing okay with Bruce’s ex-girlfriend showing up. He’s never been quite sure what had happened between Nat and Bruce; whatever it was, it had never interfered with their teamwork, and it wasn’t really any of his business.

He catches Sharon watching Nat as well, with a look in her eyes that he can’t place for a moment. 

It clicks when he remembers Peggy looking at him once with a similar expression, which is a very strange thought to be having.

He takes a large gulp of his Coke as a distraction, and coughs as part of it goes down the wrong way.

“Don’t die, ex-Cap,” Maria says. “The paperwork would be appalling.”

“Sorry for teasing you, Steve,” Sharon says, and he knows that she means it.

He doesn’t know how much Sharon knows, or thinks she knows, about his - his feelings for Sam, but it’s almost certainly more than he would want her to.

“We can change the subject,” Maria says. “What’s the gossip on all your love lives? Seems like the sort of thing we should be talking about at a party like this.”

“Nothing here,” Bucky says easily, stealing Steve’s Coke.

“Because you’re bad at flirting, or because you don’t want anything to be going on?” Nat asks with her usual unerring accuracy.

“Second one. I’m - thingy. Steve?”

Steve is perfectly aware that Bucky knows the exact words he’d chosen to identify with after a long talk with Sam and several hours of swearing at the internet. But either Bucky is trying to draw him into the conversation again, or he just doesn’t feel like saying the words out loud, and either way Steve is fine with going along with it.

“Bucky’s asexual and aromantic,” Steve says, knowing full well that his voice is coming out in a way that’s slightly too challenging.

It’s very hard to stop defending someone after you’ve been doing it for a lifetime.

“Oh, I’m ace too,” Maria says casually. “High five.”

She doesn’t actually reach across the table when she says it, so Steve feels like she could just have ended the sentence a different way.

“High five, I guess,” Bucky replies, sounding understandably confused.

“No talk of crushes, fine,” Nat says in a fake-whiny voice that make her sound disturbingly young. “What should we talk about, then? I acquired some lovely new knives yesterday.”

Steve is never quite sure what Nat means when she says things like _acquired,_ and he decided long ago that he doesn’t really want to know.

“Throwing?” Bucky asks.

“Sure,” Nat says. “Also stabbing, slicing, severing. They’re very...versatile.”

She looks at Sharon right as she says _versatile,_ and oh, Jesus, of course Nat’s version of flirting involves talking about weaponry. He’s not even the slightest bit surprised.

Sharon doesn’t look particularly alarmed, though. Actually, she looks more intrigued than she ever had on a date with Steve, which should probably make him at least a bit upset.

He isn’t surprised to realise that he can’t summon up even a hint of jealousy, though. He finds himself hoping the two of them can work things out; it’s not something he would have predicted, but he thinks they would really suit each other.

“Hey, party-poopers,” says the voice that always makes Steve relax when he hears it.

Except right now it has the opposite effect, when he remembers the conversation they’d been having a few minutes ago.

“Hi, Sam,” he says, as everyone else choruses their own greetings.

“Sam,” Nat says, and Steve starts panicking immediately. He loves Nat; she’s like the irritating sister he’d always wanted - he’d always been envious of Bucky in that respect, even when Becca had blamed the two of them for breaking a vase that she had knocked over when practicing her dance moves - but he’s fully aware that she doesn’t always think through the social consequences of everything she says.

Either that, or she thinks them through and then decides to ignore them, which is also a definite possibility.

Sam moves round so that he’s in full view of everyone. “What’s up?” he says, already sounding amused.

“I was reading a book on sexual innuendos in the English language,” Nat says, and everyone groans at hearing that.

“By _book,_ she means that she spent five hours on Urban Dictionary,” Sharon interrupts, which makes Steve wonder just how much time she and Nat have been spending together.

“I don’t want to know where this is going,” Sam says, which Steve silently agrees with.

“Did you know that ‘earning your red wings’ is a euphemism for giving someone oral sex when they’re on their period?” Nat sounds very pleased with herself for this insight. She’s never been a big fan of Redwing, even though Tony has made him - it? - near enough impossible for anyone to hack.

What the hell?

Steve is very, very glad that everyone else is either staring at Nat in horror, or watching Sam to see what his reaction is going to be, because his own face is turning bright red - oh, no, he doesn’t want to think about that particular word right now.

Sam shrugs. “Nothing wrong with that. Maybe Redwing can represent breaking down shitty stigmas about menstruation.”

Sharon laughs, much too loudly, which draws the attention of more than a few people. Steve vaguely wonders how much everyone else at the table has been drinking. He looks at the small mountain of empty wine bottles in the middle of the table and decides not to count them.

“Excellent answer, Wilson,” she says. “I deem you worthy of him.”

What does that mean?

“Worthy of who?” Sam asks, and oh _no,_ Steve knows exactly what Sharon’s getting at.

“Are you headed back to DC tonight?” Steve asks in a desperate - and hopefully not too obvious - attempt to change the subject.

“Yeah, was going to go pretty soon,” Sam says, thankfully going along with it. “Just need to say a few goodbyes first. You coming, or you want to crash here?”

“I’ll come with you,” Steve says, then remembers Bucky. “Or - wait. Buck, what do you want to do?”

“I’m staying,” Bucky says, in a tone that doesn’t invite argument.

“Um, okay. So, yeah, guess I’m headed back now. It was great to see you all.”

He does mean it, even if the night had been dotted with more than a few awkward and embarrassing moments. He loves these people, his people, his team, and he’s so grateful that they’ve all worked so hard to overcome their differences.

They say their goodbyes to almost everyone they can find, but there’s one more conversation they both know they need to have.

“We really have to thank Tony,” Sam says, voicing Steve’s thoughts. “He put this entire night together.”

Steve agrees, even though he thinks the definition of ‘putting it together’ in this case probably translates more to ‘throwing an unlimited credit card at a team of party planners and giving them free rein.”

Tony, Pepper, and Colonel Rhodes are tucked away at a corner table, with Happy standing guard nearby. Steve doesn’t really want to disturb them, but Sam puts his hand on the small of Steve’s back - a brief touch like that shouldn’t send a flush of heat racing through every inch of his body, surely? - and pushes him forward.

They all look up at them at once, with three expressions that are very different degrees of welcoming.

“Ah, it’s my favourite patriotic couple,” Tony says, and Steve tries very hard to keep any emotion off his face. “You off back to your lovenest in DC?”

“I hope that wasn’t a bird joke, Stark,” Sam says, sounding completely at ease in a way that Steve can’t help but be jealous of. “Ms Potts, Colonel Rhodes. It was great to see you again.”

“Likewise,” Pepper says. “You’re always welcome here, you know that.”

Steve ignores the way Tony winces very slightly, in a way that someone might if - for example - their foot had just been trodden on with an expensive high-heeled shoe.

“Safe journey, Wilson,” Rhodes says, smiling at Sam. “Don’t forget what we talked about before, okay?”

Sam nods but doesn’t clarify. Steve stamps down his curiosity.

“Thank you for having us,” he says to Tony awkwardly, realising after he’s said it that the phrasing makes them sound like a couple.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony says dismissively. “I figured it was about time for a big get-together, now that me and you have buried the murderous hatchet and all that.”

“It was lovely to see you, Steve,” Pepper says gracefully, and stands up to kiss both him and Sam on the cheek.

They shake hands with Tony and Rhodes, and leave out of the staff entrance at Pepper’s suggestion. They make their own way to Sam’s car instead of waiting for the valet to bring it round. Neither of them are used to having people who do that kind of thing for you, and Steve at least finds the idea more than a little awkward.

“I can drive, if you want,” Steve says, because with the amount of free alcohol going around inside he’d be surprised if Sam wasn’t tipsy.

“I’m good. I stuck to virgin cocktails, wasn’t sure if you’d be coming back with me. I did have a sip of some eighty-year-old scotch, but then Rhodes pointed out that it was younger than you.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. That’s a weird thought. It’s the little things like that which still hit him sometimes, even more than the huge, abstract concepts like the wars that rose and fell around him as he lay unconscious under the ice.

He decides not to think about that right now. Tonight has been a good night, and now he’s heading back to the home he shares with the man he - with his - with Sam.

His life is a good one, better than he could have ever hoped for - better than he could have imagined; he wouldn't have even known how to hope for something like this - and wishing for more seems like the worst kind of ingratitude.

They set off, Sam twisting the radio until it lands on a classical music station. Steve likes that he recognises a lot of the pieces instinctively, without knowing where or when they come from. 

“So, you have fun gossiping with the ladies?” Sam asks him in a teasing voice.

“They kept wanting to play drinking games. But yeah, it was fun.”

“What were you all talking about before I came up? Sharon gave me a very weird look. Felt like my ears were burning, you know?”

Steve is pretty sure that he could make something up, or just say that it had been nothing and change the subject, and that Sam would let him get away with it.

“Um,” he says instead. “They were joking around about, well. About who acts the most married out of everyone at the party.”

Sam laughs. “That would explain it. And also why you looked like you were about to spontaneously combust when I got there.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asks, unable to believe that Sam’s already guessed who exactly had won the unofficial - and ridiculous - competition.

“Bet they said us, right?”

What. 

“Um. Yes?” 

“Thought so,” Sam says, and is it Steve’s imagination or does he sound just the slightest bit smug?

“What,” Steve says, this time out loud.

“We do act pretty married, Steve, come on. We skype over breakfast whenever I’m on a Cap mission and can get to my phone. We go grocery shopping together. You leave me little sketches in my coat pockets, which is adorable, by the way, don’t you dare stop. We adopted half a cat together. You see what I mean?”

Why does it sound like Sam’s thought about this before?

And Steve had never really considered how other people might view the little things they do for one another, or even how Sam himself might. He doesn’t want to think about them in this new context; he’s scared that it will give them a meaning that’s somehow too significant for him to cope with.

“Please stop saying half a cat,” Steve says for what feels like the thousandth time, because he doesn’t know what else to say. “It makes us sound like necromancers, or something. Lily is Sharon’s as well. She’s a time-share cat.”

“That makes us sound even more married,” Sam points out, which is not entirely incorrect.

Steve swallows down the reply he wants to make, which is _does it bother you?_

“Does that bother you?” Sam asks, because apparently he’s psychic now. Or else just very good at reading Steve. “I know you’re not homophobic or anything, but does it make you feel uncomfortable?”

 _Yes,_ Steve wants to say, but he doesn’t want Sam to take it the wrong way.

“I’m not homophobic,” he goes with instead, because it’s not wildly far away from the thing he really wants to tell Sam, and maybe Sam’s ability to seem like he’s reading Steve’s mind will come into play again.

“I know that,” Sam says again, very patiently. “You were very sweet when I came out to you, and I’ve never got the sense that you were just pretending to be okay with it. And I’m good at knowing when people are lying about that, trust me.”

How is he supposed to say this out loud?

“I’m -”

He’s faced down literal aliens, and monsters, and armies of men hell-bent on world destruction. This should definitely not be harder to face than any of those were.

Sam glances over at him for a second, but then looks straight back at the road. It feels like it might be easier to say it when Sam’s driving, focused on something other than Steve.

Sam has a wonderful way of making you feel important, like you’re worth listening to. It’s a good trait to have, especially in a counsellor, but sometimes it can make Steve feel hyperaware of himself, of everything that’s wrong with him, and the thought that Sam can see all those flaws can be too much for him to deal with.

So, now would be a good time, when at least part of Sam’s attention is occupied by the road and the other cars.

He takes a quiet, deep breath.

“I’m, ah, I’m bisexual too?”

He hadn’t meant to make it a question, but it’s too late now.

“I wondered,” Sam says easily, which immediately makes Steve paranoid about what exactly about him had made Sam start wondering. “Thank you for telling me. It can’t have been easy, I’m guessing.”

“I’m in love with you,” Steve’s mouth says with no apparent input from his brain, and he suddenly wants to hurl himself out of the car.

Sam is silent for just long enough for Steve to seriously consider opening the car door.

“That bit I wasn’t expecting,” he says eventually, which gives Steve no clue as to what Sam’s actually thinking.

“I’m sorry,” he says miserably, trying to keep himself from sinking so far down into one of what Sam calls his _understandable but pointless guilt spirals_ that he’ll never be able to come out.

“Don’t be sorry! I’m just - I’m thinking, okay? I love you too, obviously.”

Steve’s heart decides that now would be a good time to fully test out its post-serum capabilities by speeding up in a very distracting way.

“Obviously,” he says weakly, because - what?

“I kind of thought you knew, man,” Sam says, sounding unsure in a way Steve rarely hears from him. “I figured you were just being nice when you never brought it up.”

“I didn’t know,” Steve says, feeling completely wrongfooted. Surely he shouldn’t still be feeling so off-balance, not after he’s confessed - confessed his feelings to Sam and found out that, by some miracle, they’re returned?

“Well, yeah, now I know that. Hey, don’t look so worried.” Sam is still watching the road, but Steve is probably giving off an unpleasant aura of anxiety, so he guesses that Sam didn’t actually need to see his expression to know what it was. “We’ll talk about it at home, yeah?” Home. Their home. “But, um. I am in love with you. And apparently you feel the same way? I don’t know, I’m kind of in shock still here.”

Steve is selfishly grateful that he’s not the only one feeling like his world’s been tilted just a bit too far away from his comfort zone. 

The rest of the journey should feel horribly awkward, probably. Instead - to Steve, at least - it feels like the tension between them is born out of a hope that’s building inside him, rather than the fear that he hadn’t even realised he’d been living with.

They step across the threshold into the house - their home, Steve realises, for what feels like the first time - and he looks around as though he’s seeing it through someone else’s eyes.

Straightaway, he sees that Bucky’s shoes are tucked away into their own corner of the shoe-rack, whereas Sam’s and Steve’s are mixed in together. Steve’s leather jacket is hanging up, with a scarf he’d borrowed from Sam dangling out of the pocket.

Sam’s black peacoat is on the next hook over, and Steve doesn’t need to look to know that his quick cartoon of Sam flying over Tony’s head and upending a can of red-white-and-blue paint over the Iron Man suit will still be tucked away inside one of the pockets.

He goes into the kitchen almost on autopilot, and opens the fridge. Bucky’s weird protein shakes and ready-meals have their own drawer - Steve should probably check nothing’s out of date, Bucky often stays over at Nat’s place in New York these days - and the rest of the fridge is taken up with Steve and Sam’s cooking experiments, which are mostly successful after years of practice.

He doesn’t need to go upstairs. He can picture their bedrooms easily, Sam’s warm and inviting, with the comfiest blanket Steve’s ever felt, Sam’s abstract Star Wars prints decorating the walls. His own room, nice enough, but not quite home, not when Sam is just across the hall, ready to talk through a nightmare - on the nights when they both have them, they usually just give up on sleep and sit in the living room drinking hot chocolate until the sun comes up, and, _oh,_ Steve is starting to wonder how he could ever have been so clueless.

Sam is watching him with a fond, amused look in his eyes.

“We are pretty married,” he says to Steve, and, well, he really can’t deny that anymore.

Steve nods, trying to think of something coherent to say.

“And we just exchanged love confessions in the car,” Sam continues, taking a step closer to Steve. “Which I still haven’t processed, by the way.”

“I love you,” Steve says again, hoping that Sam will recognise the apology in it. Not for loving Sam - he’s never, ever going to be sorry for that again - but for taking so long to find the courage to say it.

Sam grins at him, a quick, breathtaking smile that Steve can’t help but respond to, and takes one more step. And kisses him.

It’s nothing like fireworks behind his eyelids, or any of the other exaggerated descriptions he’s read about. It’s quieter, softer than that. 

It feels just the way it should, he decides after a few more moments.

It feels like coming home.

* * *

Steve wakes up the next morning curled around Sam, in the bed that he already can’t help but think of as _theirs,_ the comfy blanket tucked round them both, the room lit up with the glow the sun always makes when it starts to shine through Sam’s blinds, and he wonders if he’s ever felt more at peace in his life.

“Your turn to make breakfast,” Sam mumbles, clearly not fully awake yet.

Steve kisses the back of Sam’s neck, because that’s something he’s allowed to do now, and smiles against his skin at the soft, sleepy noise Sam lets out.

“I’ll make the fancy pancakes you like if you go pick Lily up from Mrs Forster,” he offers, already planning on jogging to the corner shop before he makes breakfast to pick up that brand of coffee Sam loves.

“Only if you do the dishes as well,” Sam says, sounding more alert.

“Deal. You want blueberries or chocolate chips?”

“Both.” Which is exactly what Steve had known Sam would say.

He’s never had this before, this quiet, steady comfort that comes from being in love with someone who you know so well that you can’t help but feel at home whenever they’re around.

His whirlwind romance with Peggy had been over so fast that they’d never had time for the little things, the small moments of shared meals and falling asleep together that build up a relationship into something lasting and true. This is what he wants, what he’s wanted for years without being able to give voice to it, and now that he has it in his arms, he feels a flow of happiness running through him, the kind that stays constant throughout hardship and failure, keeping a steady flame burning inside him that can never be extinguished.

Sam turns round and kisses him again, softly, a new greeting that somehow feels utterly familiar, and Steve decides there and then that he wants to wake up like this every day for the rest of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Fic warnings: angst over (not really) unrequited love, Steve is made uncomfortable by people talking about him and Sam, mentions of giving oral sex to someone on their period, mention of serious injury, mention of homophobia, mention of suicidal thoughts.
> 
> [CRISPR](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/CRISPR) (not Crisper) is a biochemistry thing I do not understand even a little bit.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading <3 I love these two a ridiculous amount, I'm sure I will write more SamSteve when I have the time :)


End file.
